Words Are Not His Forte
by Inkraven003
Summary: I honestly don't know where this is going, but I fell in love with Lon'qu's unique character and I wanted to explore how he fell in love with my avatar Alexandra. I really suck at summaries, so I'm not even going to try (because, as I said, I suck at them :/). Also, lame title is lame.
1. Chapter 1

So this is my first fanfic I've ever posted on here.  
It's a rather . . . slow burn. But hang in there with me.

Lon'qu's eyes watch her from afar. This mystery woman that followed the prince was an oddity he had never met. Like all the women, he avoided her, but she was always by the prince's side, whispering counsel into his ear of some type or another. Their closeness had also been noted by others in the camp and rumors of trysts and lovers, and engagements were rampant among the troops, even the civilians. But he cared nothing for such idle things, even if he in fact did agree that their closeness warranted something deeper than friendship.

The reason this woman caught his eye was because of how . . . misplaced she felt. She was awkward with the all but a few of those that made up their company. She always stood at a distance, as if not entirely sure herself if she belonged where she stood. He did note that this uncomfortable air and overall hesitancy disappeared on the battlefield. There, she was fierce and granted no quarter. She was ruthless and moved with such a fluid grace it was almost . . . unnatural. And this disturbed him somewhat. He had fought with the best, hell, he was one of the best and yet never had he seen someone move in such a flawless way. He had decided since the first battle that he needed to keep his eye on this one.

But even that wasn't what continuously drew his eye—because he had, like all the others, learned that she was loyal and only ever did what was best for the prince and Ylisse. No, it was because she was so . . . bright. Not literally, though her lightning magic did sometimes crackle around her. She was cheerful, doing odd around camp and for comrades to cheer them up. She was an optimist and had poor timing for jokes meant to lighten the mood. She talked about destiny, as if it was not already written, when Lon'qu knew different. She walked so quietly, not without sound but as though her body weighed nothing.

Never had he been so enraptured by a woman and the whole ordeal was disturbing to him.

Lon'qu looked up when someone plopped themselves beside him, grabbing his own wet stone and proceeded to sharpen his blade. Basilio.

"Keep staring like that, boy, and people might start getting the wrong idea." Basilio raised an eyebrow at his heir apparent.

Lon'qu hid his blush easily—something he had trained himself to do. His mother used to say she could read him like a book and he had taken it to heart. Now, no one could read him. Except when he was around women. Which could be frustrating at times.

"She is . . . an odd woman."

Basilio grunted. "That she is. Stuck to that princeling's side. That, or glued to the war table, going over strategies and what not. Scary clever."

"I do not understand why they trust her. They do not know her. She does not even know herself—her past is a mystery."

Basilio sighed and tossed the wet stone aside. "I thought you trusted her?"

"I do . . . to an extent. I trust her not to thrust a blade in my back in battle."

"Then that's all that matters, boy. If we only ever worried about people's past, we would not trust anyone. You should know that, boy." Basilio stood up, slipping his sword in its sheath. "Go and grab something to eat. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow. And with the way the Risen are popping up, you never know when our next battle is." He patted Lon'qu's shoulder and left.

"Lon'qu?"

Startled, he turned to look at who had called his name. He felt a fierce blush slide onto his cheeks and he couldn't fight it down. He never could when he was around woman, particularly this one—she unsettled him. In his flustered state, he snapped, "What do you want, woman?"

He blushed even harder. That's not what he meant to say. Not at all, but he couldn't take back his words now and look a right fool. So he clamped his mouth shut, frowning at his ineptitude.

The corners of her mouth slid into a slight frown and he want to smack himself. He just was not good with women. Of course he had interacted with khan Flavia without issue, but she . . . she wasn't a woman. She was a warrior, a khan . . . not a potential bedmate. Gods above, he had admitted it, admitted in a roundabout way to the fact that he found Alexandra attractive. But then he almost laughed. Of course he would pick the one he could not have, the one who slept with the prince. Trying to steal away a royal's lover would more than likely result in execution or something. He wasn't very familiar with how these Ylissean nobility or politics worked. In Ferox, he could have just called out the offender and finished the argument in a duel—strongest man wins. Simple.

"Lon'qu!"

He was jerked out of his thoughts to find a rather irritated looking Alexandra, a hand propped on her hip and the frown on her face much bigger. And, he realized, it had been because he had been stuck in his thoughts rather than listening to her. Which flustered him further.

"What?" He snapped. Again, not what he wanted to say. This time, he bit his tongue and said, "I did not mean to disregard what you were saying. What did you want of me?"

An apology, of sorts. He just hoped she was as clever as Basilio testified she was and saw through his words to the intent and meaning. And, apparently, she did. She eased up and so did he in response. Thank the Gods.

"I was wondering if you would like to spar with me? I'm afraid my swordsmanship is lacking—the sword on my hip is more for show than for use. Magic is only good for so much, I'm afraid. Not much good when defending."

Spar? With her? Alone with her? Gods, no! "That sounds reasonable."

Wait, what had his mouth just said?!

She brightened up and that caused yet another wave of blushed to stain his skin. "Perfect! Does early morning work for you? I have to meet with Chrom afterwards."

And at the mention of the prince, his stomach soured. That's right. Why was he getting all excited? She was the prince's. "Early morning it is, then." He ground out. "Do not expect me to be lenient. I am a hard taskmaster."

Her grin turned into a smirk. "Is that a challenge? Because I accept!" She rubbed her hands together, suddenly very excited. "This will be fun!"

It wasn't fun.

"You're holding it wrong, woman! Grip it like so or risk losing your sword and then your head next!" Lon'qu barked, once again demonstrating with his own hands.

"That's what I'm doing!" Alexandra barked back.

To show her how wrong she was, he lunged forward and easily knocked her sword away, swinging his blade around to lay against her skin. She was huffing and puffing and he hadn't broken a sweat.

She stared wide-eyed at where her blade had just flown and then back up at Lon'qu's face. "What the hell is wrong with you! I wasn't even ready!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, disturbed by exactly how easy it had been and angered that she had made it so easy. And a little flustered considering he had noticed that her shirt had shifted enough that he could see some of her cleavage. "Your opponent will not ask if you are ready to die!" He huffed, frustrated with the whole ordeal, frustrated that he had said yes to spar with her. It had had bad idea written all over and yet he had still come. And he couldn't teach her the way he could one of the male gender. He had taught many boys and he had grabbed their arms or hands and been behind them to show them how to grip, hold, block, jab, and swing. He had had his feet next to theirs to prompt them how to dodge, evade, lunge, trip their opponent up. But he couldn't do that with her, couldn't touch her because then he'd turn into a sharp-tongued, flustered idiot. "This is useless." He swung his blade into its sheath and turned to walk away.

However, he did not expect the sharp, little pain that blossomed from the back of his head. Stunned, he whirled around to find Alexandra just as surprised. Lon'qu looked at his feet to find an acorn. "Did you just . . . throw an acorn at me?" He demanded.

Suddenly, her face turned determined and defensive. "And if I did?"

He was speechless. Before he could figure out what to do or say, she grabbed another acorn and threw it. This one popped him in the forehead. He was further rendered speechless as she continued to grab acorns and hurl them at him. His mind and feet finally caught up to what was happening and he began evading them.

"What the hell, woman!" He spat, not really sure what else to say. He had to admit, she had incredible aim.

He was further stunned to hear her start laughing. This was not funny! This was . . . this was insane! Finally, she either ran out of acorns or was shaking too bad from laughing which ruined her aim, but either way, she stopped chucking those damnable shells. He watched in confusion as her beaming face was turned to him. She was . . . happy now?

"Haaa . . . that was fun."

Again, he was rendered speechless as he eyed her. Was she mad? He would never understand women.

"Alexandra!"

Both of their gazes were turned to the prince not too far off, beckoning her over. Again, that sour feeling made his gut turn, especially as she got up, dusting herself off, obeying the boy's command without question. She paused as she was about to pass him, tilting her head to look at him, a small smile still gracing her face. She . . . looked a lot prettier when she smiled. At that thought and the realization of how close she was, a blush creeped onto his cheeks

"When next we make camp, could we do this again?"

Obviously his body and mind were not connected. If it were, his mind would have told his mouth to say no, when instead it said, "As you wish."

She patted him on the arm and then joined the prince's side.

Frozen, Lon'qu touched where she had touched him—it was warm.

He saw it before she did. His body just moved. There was no thought, no hesitancy as he lunged for her, grabbed her arm and thrust her back. He hissed as the arrow hit his shoulder, jerking him to the side with the impact. Damn longbows.

"Lon'qu!" She dropped to his side as he clutched his shoulder, breathing hard through his nose, trying to lessen the pain. Belatedly, he realized the arrow had hit his sword arm. Admittedly, he could use the other, but he had never been able to wield a blade as well in that hand as he had the other. This was going to make this battle a little tougher.

But first, he needed to remove the thing restricting his movement. "Is the tip through?" He gritted out.

Without hesitating, she checked. "Yes."

Well, at least there was that. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he broke the shaft. Even that slight movement had him on all fours, breathing even harder through his nose, seeing spots around his eyes. That was one thing Basilio had never been able to fix him off—his sensitivity to pain. "I . . . need you to . . . pull the arrow . . . out."

"Okay." Again, no hesitation or questions. He didn't even have to say anymore. He wished he had said to warn him beforehand so he could brace for the pain, but there was no time as she grabbed the protruding arrow and yanked it from his back.

He didn't know how long he had blacked out as he came to, but either way, he was ashamed he had done it at all. He really needed to work on his pain tolerance.

"Are you okay?" Alexandra's worried voice cut through his fog. He quickly took stock of what was happening. The battle was still raging—he could see Stahl in the distance, spearing enemies while his horse kicked and reared and bit. A bit deliriously, he wished he could ride a horse like that. He cleared his head and struggled to all fours, his shoulder hurting like crazy.

"I'm fine." He gritted out. "Where's my sword?"

She looked around and spotted it, running to grab it and bring it to him. He was surprised she wasn't protesting his still wanting to fight or anything. He grabbed the blade from her and got to his feet, aching but willing to fighting.

"I spelled your wound closed. It'll hold for a while, but not long. Make sure you go to Lissa or Maribelle after to get it fixed." Something in her voice made him turn to look and he was a bit startled to see something . . . warm in her expression. After all his blunders, she worried for him. It was . . . a nice feeling. Rotating his arm a little to get used to the feel of the blade in his other hand, he grunted in assent.

"Hm. Let's finish these bastards off."

As much as he wanted to go to the medic tent and have himself fixed, he wasn't sure if he could handle either the girl Lissa or that irritating woman named Maribelle anywhere near him. But he was used to it. He had patched himself up too many times to count. True, he could stand to learn more in regards to healing—his body bore scars in testament to that—but he figured that if he could still stand on his feet and fight, he was doing a fine job.

In his own tent now, he gingerly stripped off his overcoat, wincing slightly as the dried blood had stuck the cloth to his skin, and then proceeded to divest himself of the rest of his upper garments. He sighed as he sat down on his cot, the remedies he needed laid out before him. Dipping the linen into the bowl with warm water, he went to cleaning the dried blood off himself, all the while berating himself. It had been stupid, wildly lunging in and pushing her out of harm's way. He gritted his teeth as he looked back now, realizing she had been prepared to evade the arrow, to counterattack even, but he had assumed otherwise and messed everything up. But he remembered the panic, the clenching of his gut and the ice as it washed down his spine. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt fear on the battlefield but he felt it then. Not for himself, but for the woman who had captured his attention.

He was getting sloppy and frustration at himself and her rose in his gut. This was insane!

"Here you are."

Startled, Lon'qu leapt to his feet and whirled, making the bowl tip and spill most of its contents while the tray with the needle and thread flew from his flailing arm. There she was, standing there at his tent flap, a rather annoyed look on her face. And then, in horror, he realized he was half naked and right in front of her. A fierce blush turned his neck, ears, and face red.

"Get out!" He barked, wincing as a muscle flexed in his injured shoulder.

"Not on your life." She snapped back. "Why aren't you at the medic tent?" She demanded.

"This is my tent! You will—"

"Is your fear of women so great that you would rather die?"

And now he was mortified. He had hoped—but he should have known better. Her eyes were sharp and cut to what was hidden. Even Basilio didn't know that he _feared_ women—the old man just thought he hated them. Talking to them, interacting with them . . . it all sent his stomach roiling. He hated feeling weak and insecure and that's exactly what women did to him, and, he noted, it was even more pronounced in this woman's presence. "I—It's not . . ." He didn't know what to say.

She eyed him for a moment, then sighed, her body losing all of its tension. "Sit down. My healing magic isn't as grand as Maribelle or Lissa, but I'll help you." Her tone was firm and told she was not going to take no as an answer.

Hesitantly, Lon'qu did as told as she came up to him, grabbing the things that had fallen. When her hands touched his back, the other gently prodding the wound, he hissed and flinched. Not so much because it hurt, but more because . . . he was startled. This was unfamiliar territory and it unsettled him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had touched him.

"So . . . care to talk about why you're so afraid of us?" she inquired quietly as she set to work. He felt the magic flow into him as her other hand grabbed the needle and thread.

"I'm not afraid of you." She stilled. As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. He was more than willing to bite his own tongue off just to keep it from spouting such nonsense. His blush darkened at the confession and he waited anxiously for how she would respond—or maybe he wanted her not to respond at all. Yes, maybe that would be better.

"Really? I thought you disliked me the most." She proceeded with the healing.

"No . . . I do not . . . dislike you." He said hesitantly. "You . . . confuse me. And it unsettles me."

Without warning, he felt the needle bite into his flesh and he gulped back a yelp, reverting to his breathing exercises from his nose.

"Well then. What are you confused about?"

"It's hard to explain."

She snorted. "Try me."

"You are different from the others. From other women. You do not belong among us."

She felt him stiffen and suddenly her movements were not so kind. He winced as she tugged a little harder to tighten the string. "Is that so? How, pray tell, do I not belong, swordmaster?"

He apparently missed the warning in her voice. "You just feel different. You walk different, hold yourself as though you do not know what it is you do. But . . . but on the battlefield, you are fierce. So sure of yourself and your actions. You leap to protect your allies without much regard to your safety," That last bit had him clenching his teeth for a moment. "I do not understand why you can be so sure on the battle field and so meek without."

She eased up, he could feel it—could feel a lot of things because of his heightened awareness due to her closeness—and finished stitching together the gash on his back. She began washing up and his eyes followed her. "You are right about one thing. I . . . do not belong here. I can feel it, so can you. That is what makes me so meek. These are not my people, though I love them all the same. The only time I feel right is when I am protecting those that have tried to make this my home, when I feel my magic leave my fingers and fell an enemy before me." She had her back to him. Her arms moved to wrap themselves around herself, her head tipping down. "The battlefield is where I belong. It feels good, there, almost euphoric. And . . . it scares me, how good it feels. Killing people shouldn't feel so good." The last bit was choked out and she seemed horrified that she let it slip

Terror raced through him as he realized she was crying. He had no clue what to do with crying women and knew he would make it worse should he try to make things better. So he watched helplessly.

She finally calmed herself enough to say. "Your wound should be fine now—just don't use that arm for a while longer. I bid you a good night." And then she was gone and all he wanted to do was kill himself for being so insensitive.

For someone so sensitive to pain, he sure couldn't sense when to shut the hell up.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's another. No idea if my chapters are too short or long. Let me know of any critiques.  
I'm really rusty when it comes to writing.

-

A couple of days later, after the mess he had caused in his tent, he finally rehearsed his words enough to not mess up—it also took him that long to gather his courage to find and talk to her. The very idea of apologizing to anyone was hard to swallow. Basilio said he had too much pride. But he knew he owed Alexandra some kind of sincerity—he hadn't meant to hurt her and hadn't meant to say what he did. Knowing this, he found it a bit easier to go about this apologizing business.

Of course, he knew where to find her. She never left that princeling's side. His plan was to pull her discreetly aside—he'd be damned to show weakness in front of that boy—and explain to her he hadn't meant to offend with his words, that he hadn't been able to filter his thoughts and his mouth, that he was . . . sorry. Sighing, he opened the tent flap to the war tactics tent, but was a bit shocked. As per usual, Chrom was in there, discussing some kind of strategy with his guard, Frederick and some others he hadn't cared to really get to know. But there was no Alexandra. He stood there, frozen as his plans had already fallen apart from the beginning. An ill omen for sure.

As he was getting ready to turn and leave and forget what he was planning, Chrom noticed him. "Lon'qu?"

Lon'qu stiffened, but turned back around. He didn't hate the prince—he was a good fighter, if a bit unrefined. A little polishing and he'd be unbeatable on the battlefield. And he was, overall, a good man. He made mistakes, true. Every man did and Lon'qu wouldn't trust a man who didn't. But the boy's naivety was irksome and there was something else that rubbed the swordmaster the wrong way. There was also the fact that Alexandra was stuck to his side as if attached to him. That thought made a heat burn under his skin. He grunted in reply, not trusting himself with words at the moment.

"Did you need something?"

Reluctantly, he said, "I was looking for Alexandra."

Everyone was suddenly quiet, eyebrows raised in a quiet shock. Lon'qu? Looking for a woman? This was something strange and noteworthy. "She left not too long ago," Chrom said slowly. "She said something about working on her skills to rip someone a new one?" And then, slowly, as if not sure if the words leaving his mouth would be regretted, he asked, "Did you and Alexandra get into a fight?"

Lon'qu scowled. "None of your business, boy."

Someone whispered, "That would be a yes."

There was a snort as someone tried to suppress their chuckle, but it was contagious as everyone else tried and failed to hold in their mirth. Lon'qu scowled worsened, but this time a light blush accompanied it. Indignant, he stormed out of the tent. Grumbling to himself, he found that his feet were already taking him to the makeshift practice field they had set up. And there he found her, brandishing a sword and hacking away at the poor practice dummy. Or what was left of it. As he drew closer, he noticed she was muttering under her breath, something about, "Insensitive bastard. Like _you_ know anything." She raised her sword particularly high and shouted, "And what the hell! You're avoiding me now!? Go die!"

Knowing that he'd more than likely be injured if he interrupted her now, he hung back out of her line of sight and watched. He was impressed with her form. In the four days he had taken to avoid her and to gather his nerve, she had improved drastically. True, she still had a ways to go—too many openings an opponent could take advantage of—she was still deadly in her aim. And he was a little amazed by her stamina—he was waiting for a good time until her arms started shaking and her arms were having a hard time picking up the metal in her hand. When that happened, he walked up to her.

Gulping the sudden lump in his throat, he said, "Alexandra."

"Holy shit!" Not expecting someone beside her, Alexandra whirled around and Lon'qu just barely evaded the tip of the blade.

Furious, he reached out and snatched the weapon from her hand. "Are you trying to get someone killed?" He demanded, shoving the blade into the ground.

"N-no, I—" Suddenly, her apologetic face turned into a scowl when she realized it was him. "You shouldn't sneak up on people!"

"You would have heard me had you not been muttering like a madwoman!"

"I-I was not!" Her face flushed hot. "H-How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to tell you leave enough openings to get you killed." Gods above, this wasn't going how he wanted it to go at all. And now they were both breathing hard with their mouths clamped shut, an awkward silence reigning. Why was it so hard for him to keep calm and cool headed around her? True, he got flustered around all women, but this one unhinged him most completely.

They stared at each other for a while before she huffed and whirled around to walk away. No! He couldn't let it end this way! Without thinking, Lon'qu reached out and grabbed her arm. She turned on her heel to stare at him in shock. Lon'qu quickly released her and rubbed his hand. Why was it so warm?

"I . . . I did not . . ." He sighed. So much for that well thought out apology.

"What?" She cocked her hip and folded her arms.

"I wanted to," He felt his cheeks warm, "Apologize. For what happened before. I spoke out of turn."

"Huh?" She seemed surprised.

"I am not good . . . at talking with women. And . . . I wasn't—I'm not . . . good. With words, I mean." Those were about all the words he could choke out in his humiliation and sudden terror. Yes, opening himself up to the fact that he had been in the wrong and to her ridicule terrified him.

Suddenly, her expression turned amused. "You don't say?" She asked with a little giggle.

His face flushed a deeper red. She was laughing at him. Laughing! He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands that so wanted to lash out. Again, her sharp eyes took notice and he almost gasped as she reached and gently grabbed one of his clenched hands.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed. And I accept your apology. Is that why you avoided me all this time?"

For a moment, he didn't hear her. He was too focused on his hand in hers, the feel of her hand rubbing soothing circles on the back of it. He was beginning to shake from the contact and quickly pulled his hand away. "Yes . . . I did not know what to say and did not want to make it worse." He mumbled out, looking at his hand. He could still feel her touch.

"Well, I guess I can appreciate that. Thank you, for being so considerate. But you know—"

"Alexandra!"

Lon'qu felt his skin flush as Chrom called out for her. His hands clenched tightly again and he suddenly felt so hostile, especially when Alexandra's face lit up and she waved to the princeling. She glanced at Lon'qu. "I must go. Again, thank you for apologizing. Can we start up that sparring in the mornings again?"

"I see no reason why not."

He was almost blinded by the smile she sent him and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Perfect. I will see you tomorrow." And then in a move he didn't see coming, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. It was quite a quick and chaste kiss, but it felt like his skin burned from the contact. He was frozen and could not move a muscle as she raced to be by the princeling's side, their heads dipped together as they discussed something of important.

When Lon'qu finally regained control of his body again, all he could do was move a hand to touch the cheek she had kissed as his face flushed with the deepest shade of red yet.

"What a lucky find." Basilio groaned in pleasure.

The company had fortuitously stumbled upon some springs to wash the grime of travel and battle from their bodies and to relax. Lon'qu saw no point in laying in water, wasting time that could be used to train or take more ground. But Basilio was insistent and now the swordmaster found himself soaking in the waters as well. Though relaxing they may be, Lon'qu could not ignore the sulfuric stench that accompanied the springs.

He just hoped it did not linger on the skin.

"So, my boy. How fairs our pretty little Tactician?"

Lon'qu stared at his khan in confusion. "Well, I suppose?" He answered slowly. Basilio was digging, looking for something and he hadn't a clue what.

Basilio scoffed. "You spar with her every morning and I have seen you two together almost as often as she is with the prince. Has my heir finally fallen for a woman?"

The very idea had Lon'qu fighting a blush, but he didn't have an answer. Love? He certainly found her attractive—he fought the blush even harder—but love? He had been pondering over his predicament with Alexandra for the weeks that had been traveling, wondering why she bothered him more than others, why he had a hard time thinking of anyone else. He was almost volatile around her or anything that had to do with her. He was becoming distracted, which could cost any one of them a life. It was becoming most tiring in every sense of the word. He sighed. He wasn't too proud to admit he may need guidance, but actually forcing the words out was another problem all together. So instead, he sank further in the waters and said, "Don't be ridiculous."

He had gone insane. That was the only way to explain his current situation.

Why else would he have openly challenged the boy-prince to a match? But he kept replaying what he had seen in his head—the princeling and Alexandra, together. Not unusual, not at all. A sight he had reluctantly come to tolerate. But this time, they were close, too close and the boy-prince had leaned over and kissed her cheek. And for days now, Lon'qu's mind and heart had been in chaos, nearly costing him a dear comrade's life in a battle recently fought.

All he knew was that Alexandra was the cause of it all.

The anger of letting himself become so distracte, particularly on the battlefielf then added to the fury that boiled his blood at the sight and he had demanded the boy fight him. Ashamedly, he recalled tossing more than a few insults his way to ensure the boy would accept his challenge. And accept, he did.

He almost grinned in a perverse satisfaction about how red and angry the boy looked, so ready to defend his honor. But then the heat boiling his blood cooled slightly at remembering Alexandra's face. Disappointment. Confusion. Anger. Worry. All of those and more had marred her face.

He looked around him, noting the crowd that had gathered, Frederick and a couple others who tried to protest were quickly silenced by the princeling. Everyone else was interested to see how this played out. Lon'qu was more than certain he would win. He was in his prime, trained to lethality and more experienced than the princeling before him. He felt the familiar taste of victory, of the anticipation of a fight. And then he saw red as Alexandra leaned over and whispered something urgently into Chrom's ear. The boy shook his head and waved her off, and that made the swordmaster even angrier—such disrespect!

"Are you stalling, boy? Afraid of the beating you will receive?"

And with those words, everyone understood that this was real, not just a sparring match of fisticuffs between friends.

Chrom lashed out, as Lon'qu knew he would. The swordmaster easily side-stepped him and knocked him to the ground. Chrom quickly got to his feet and studied Lon'qu intently. And it went on like this for a while, circling each other, both testing reaches and mobility. Chrom got in a few good hits, splitting his opponent's lips, but Lon'qu, as he had predicted, was the better fighter. He had Chrom down on the ground, when he suddenly felt the need to look up and into the crowd. His eyes immediately went to Alexandra whose face was pinched with worry. For her prince, no doubt.

Without warning, Lon'qu lost all will to fight. What was he doing? He was undermining a rather good man's authority by letting his emotions overrule his logic. And . . . he stared at Alexandra as she worried her lip, her hands pressed together. He had lost before any of this began. Chrom felt the swordmaster's grip weaken and took advantage of it. He quickly had the swordmaster pinned to the ground after a jab to the face.

"I concede." Lon'qu breathed. "You win, Prince Chrom."

Everyone looked at each other in confusion, and so did the Prince as he hesitantly let Lon'qu up. The defeated man got up and without a word, left their makeshift sparring arena as everyone tried to figure out what happened. All Lon'qu understood was that he needed to right the wrong he had just done. Lon'qu held out his hand and the prince slowly clasped his elbow in a show of a truce, whether he knew it or not.

Words, needed to be said, for all to hear. He inwardly groaned at the idea—as he had confessed to Alexandra, he was no good with pretty phrases or speeches. But . . . he needed to try. To fix what he had almost broken. "Forgive me, Prince Chrom. My actions . . . were not befitting a warrior, my words, less so. You fought well, for one so young." Without meaning too, the swordmaster's eyes sought out Alexandra, but did not find her. He let go of the prince and without another word, left the crowd as they gathered around the winner.

He wondered if the boy knew just how much of a victor he was.


	3. Chapter 3

He sat in his tent, laying on his back as he lapsed deep into thought. Why had he challenged the little prince? It defied all logic. But . . . he had to concede that whenever Alexandra was involved, logic flew out the window. He sat up and placed himself in a meditative position, something taught to him by his mother when he would come home flustered and irritated by the day. He closed his eyes and thought deeper. He wasn't sure what he was looking for—answers? Solace?—both sounded reasonable right now. The fact that he didn't even understand himself made him disconcerted. He had always been so sure, so confident. He may not know how to handle a conversation or touch of a woman, but he always knew himself.

So why?

He grunted as the answer came to him so quickly, he was nearly knocked breathless. Alexandra. That was why. She was . . . she was a disease. She had infected his mind and refused to leave. But . . . that wasn't true either, wasn't fair. She wasn't a disease. She hadn't forced herself in any way on him. So instead of trying to detangle his thoughts regarding her and him first, he tried to discern why he had gone mad and challenged Chrom.

Images of all the times the princeling and Alexandra were together flooded his head and he felt his blood burn. He had become all too familiar with this sensation as of late, but he had yet to place a name on it. But it scorched his flesh and mind and turned him into an impulsive boy. He hadn't felt this feeling before, but it held a familiar taste of bitterness on his tongue. But he needed a name, something to call it and therefore conquer it. He . . . disliked who he was when consumed by this feeling.

His eyes snapped open as his tent flap was flung aside and there stood the very center of his chaos. Alexandra looked right mad with her lips pressed into a thin line and her stiff posture. He felt himself swallow and his mouth go dry. He had not thought to confront her so soon—in fact, he had thought to avoid it all together. What was he to say? Do? Nothing came to mind and he quickly looked away from her accusing eyes, suddenly very interested in his bruised knuckles.

"Have you gone mad?" She demanded.

He felt her move from the entrance and to him, making him flinch slightly. Would she hit him as punishment? In all honesty, he knew he deserved it. But he somehow knew a hot from her would hurt far more than from any other person. He watched her from the corner of his eyes and watched as she kneeled, placing a tray on the ground. Curious, he turned fully to look and raised his eyebrow at the medicinal items on it.

"I can't believe you said all those things and went and provoked Chrom into a fight. How old _are_ you?"

Without even thinking, he said, "Twenty and eight summers."

He flinched when she slammed her fist down. "That's not what I meant, and you know it!" She grabbed a cloth from the tray and poured some kind of ointment on it. Without warning, she sighed and her posture slumped. After a few moments of staring at the cloth and a heavy silence, she sat up on her knees and said, "Come here."

They locked eyes and Lon'qu suddenly found it hard to breath. Very hard. Without even realizing it, his body leaned forward and he had let her cup his face. He flinched away when one of her fingers accidentally brushed against his blacking eye, but her hands followed and steadied him. She dabbed the cloth on his cut lip and he fought to flinch yet again. A small smile pulled at her lips.

"Such a baby. You passed out when you got shot by an arrow, too."

He bit back the angry retort, his face heating. He couldn't take his eyes off her face. She was just so close, close enough that he could feel her breath on his lips. She turned and went to clean the cloth of his blood, pouring a bit more the ointment onto it before continuing. The moment she turned her eyes from his, the spell was broken and Lon'qu reeled back. What was . . . wrong with him? And . . . why was she here? Shouldn't she be tending to her prince? The thought made him feel that familiar burn and his chest ache.

"Lon'qu . . . what were you thinking?" She said softly, turning back to him and gently, oh so gently, smoothing the ointment onto his blossoming bruise.

Lon'qu's mouth went dry as a bleached bone and his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. She was close, so, so close. He had the strangest urge to reach out and run his fingers across her cheek. But he quickly shoved the urge down, a kind of terror seizing him. Finally, he choked out, "I do not know."

And he didn't. He didn't know _why_ he did a lot of things anymore.

She sighed. "Lon'qu, if it's an issue with the Chrom himself, then talk to him. In private. Don't make a public display of it. He's a good man and will hear you out and accommodate the best he can. He didn't deserve that beating you gave him." Again, it went right back to that damnable prince. He couldn't hide the scowl that so quickly appeared on his face. And she didn't miss it. "Lon'qu, what in the Realms has you so upset at Chrom?"

Her softness and pleading made him lose his anger and quickly slide into dejection. He shouldn't be mad at her. It was her choice. And her choice wasn't him. "You always have something good to say about the princeling."

"I . . . well, yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Then you are . . . happy with him?"

She gave him a quizzical look. "What? I . . . I guess? Lon'qu, what in the Realms are you getting at?"

He slumped and pulled from her touch, missing the warmth and pressure of her hands immediately. "You . . . shouldn't spar with me nor enter my tent anymore. Chrom will misunderstand."

"Misunderstand . . . misunderstand _what_?"

"You are lovers, are you not?"

Silence reined for so long, he thought he would go mad. And then Alexandra was laughing so hard, it made him flinch in surprise. He looked at her in bewilderment. She was laughing so hard, she was crying. A burning blush burst onto his skin—he didn't know why she was laughing, but he had a good mind that it was because of and at him.

"Me and Chrom? No! Gods above, no!" She choked out between laughs. After a time, she settled down with an occasional giggle breaking free. "Chrom and I? We are brother and sister, partners in this venture. Nothing more and nothing less. Oh, but I needed to laugh. Why ever did you think we were lovers?"

The blush on his face was quickly spreading to his ears and neck. "I had heard the copious amounts of rumors. And . . . you are always by his side and so . . . happy when around him. I concluded . . ."

She shook her head. "I've heard the rumors too. Idle gossip to while away the time, is all those are. And I must be by his side as I am his tactician, advisor, and he is the first person I ever met here. There is a special bond there, that's all." She turned thoughtful, for a moment, folding the cloth in her hands. "I will admit, I do see how people could misconstrue our relationship. He is rather attractive," Lon'qu found himself gritting his teeth, "And a good man. One of the most eligible bachelors. I'd imagine that spending as much time as I have with him, people were bound to think we were intended or some such."

Then her sharp eyes turned to him and he felt himself grow still and cold. "But I hardly see how all of this would affect how you act."

She was digging, like Basilio was. But this time, Lon'qu knew what she was seeking and . . . he wasn't all that sure if it was what she was looking for. He had never felt so many things in one person's presence, so much confusion and frustration and . . . contentedness. His eyes trailed over her expectant face and suddenly, he had his answer. For whatever question, he had found the answer. Without thinking, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and slid his mouth over hers in a kiss. She gasped in surprise and clutched onto his shirt, but, he found most giddily, she was kissing him back.

He eventually pulled away to give them some space to breath, a deep red spreading from the tips of his ears down his neck—from embarrassment or . . . exhilaration, he wasn't sure this time. That had been . . . rather unexpected, but he couldn't say he disliked it. He rather liked the softness of her lips on his and her scent in his nose. She touched her lips, her eyes wide.

"Oh. Oh . . . I thought . . ." She suddenly started crying and he panicked.

His heart sank as he realized she did not want him, did not want his kiss. He had taken something that hadn't been offered. He reeled back like he had been bitten. "I-I . . . please forgive me, Alexandra. I don't know what I was thinking. I-I—" What could he say to mend this situation? He had no idea and he hated feeling helpless.

She shook her head. "No. No, it's not that." She turned her face to him and he realized she was smiling. Rather brightly and in such a way, his breath was momentarily taken away. "I'm just so . . . happy."

He found his hands were now cupping her face, his thumbs wiping away errant tears. "I do not understand. Why, then, do you cry?"

She laughed. "I guess I just can't contain all my happiness, so it's escaping in tears." She wiped her face and calmed down. "I know what that kiss meant for me, but . . ." She bit her lip and his eyes couldn't help but stare at the action. "What did . . . does it mean for you?"

His face heated even more and he briefly wondered if it was possible to melt oneself. "I think I . . . I think I love you."

Her voice was shaky. "You think?"

"I . . . have never loved before. Not like this. This is all . . . very new to me. I am discovering many things for the first time in regards to you."

She smiled and pulled one of his hands from her face, lacing her fingers with his. "Then . . . you have never courted a woman before?"

He swallowed, suddenly so nervous at revealing his inexperience and ineptitude. "Never."

"I suppose that was a rather foolish question—with your fear of woman and all that." She was rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand, like the last time they had held hands and he found he rather enjoyed the sensation. "Then . . . with all this . . . are you no longer afraid of women?"

He pondered that, but found the answer quite easily. "No . . . I . . . think it's singular to you. You are not a woman, you are Alexandra." He suddenly realized how wrong that could be taken, and grew flustered. But Alexandra smiled.

"I understand, Lon'qu. I do. I," She took a deep breath, "I noticed you from the beginning, did you know that? I found you rather rude and annoying with all the women-fearing, but . . . I also saw all the good you did and I knew there was a good person there. He just wasn't so good with words, which upset quite a few people. And that was why he was so quite."

A thrill raced through him at that fact that she had seen so clearly through him. A warmth that had begun the moment he had confessed what he felt was growing warmer and sliding over him like a soft blanket.

"I got to know you better, and I found I rather liked who I uncovered, even if he could aggravate me to death. So, since I have not said it already, I love you too, Swordmaster Lon'qu."

Again, without thought, he leaned forward and shared another kiss, feeling incredibly warm and content. No, that wasn't the right word. He was happy. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. When he pulled away, his mind racing with everything that just happened, he snapped to reality when Alexandra giggled.

"But I have to ask—were you jealous about Chrom and I?"

Jealous? Was that what that insidious emotion was? The feeling that he wanted to rip the young man to shreds with his bare hands? "I . . . did not like the closeness you two shared and it . . . drove me mad whenever I saw you together," he admitted grudgingly. "I hated it so much."

A small smile crept onto her face. "While I do not appreciate the man you become in these bouts, I must admit that I find the whole thing funny—jealous of a nonexistent relationship."

"I fail to see the humor in it." He grumbled, looking away and feeling the heat on his face.

She squeezed his hand. "Well, you have nothing to be jealous of again. I'm yours, Lon'qu, as much of me as you'll have."

Lon'qu turned to look at her and was breathless from the warm look she was turning on him. A small smile pulled at his own lips. He lifted their entwined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, despite the anxiety the show of affection afflicted his stomach. Finding the words he so desperately wanted to say, he opened his mouth and said, "And I am yours, Alexandra, along with all my imperfections."

"And I wouldn't have you any other way."

At first they kept it a secret from the rest, and due to Lon'qu still overcoming his anxiety around women, they took it slow. They stole moments together, light touches here and there that had them both blushing like school children. Occasionally, Lon'qu would steal a kiss, too, and Alexandra would giggle at the pure innocence he radiated.

Currently, they were sparring and Lon'qu was rather impressed by how quickly she learned the sword. She was much better. Her swings and jabs more refined, smoother and her openings oh so few now. What would have taken a normal person years to fully grasp, let alone refine, had taken her only a few months. But she was no normal person. And it was pride that made his chest swell, pride at her accomplishments and the fact that she was his.

And today, they were going to have an actual match.

He felt the thrill of anticipation and watched her doing her stretches, same as him. His eyes couldn't help but wander to her body, to those few instances when her midriff was exposed. Before, he would have shied away, blushed like mad and flustered. And though he still did this, there was a stronger urge to keep staring, to never take his eyes off what was _his_. And always, that strange heat that made him breathe hard and his skin flush. He had quickly identified it for what it was—want. It coiled in his gut and knotted there. He wanted Alexandra with all he had.

And he wasn't some naïve boy. He knew what these yearnings were, had heard men laugh and talk about it around the campfire more than enough. He stumbled and fumbled with words and could not eloquently put to verse what he wanted to tell her, about how his heart swelled when he thought of her and the fact that she loved him. All he could do was show her by getting her food from the mess tent, by the light touches they shared or the chaste kisses in stolen moments, by shielding her and staying by her side in battle. But anymore, none of those small things felt like enough and with their fight reaching more and more dangerous heights. . .

"Lon'qu?" He jerked to the present, finding her in her favorite stance—the Fool.

He smirked. "Ready to be soundly beaten?"

She scoffed, but smiled back, giving as much as she took. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

And then she lunged forward. He chuckled and dodged—she was still too predictable and he told her so. They exchanged blows, both watching each other intently for openings of any kind. He was impressed with her ferocity and tenacity. She had built up her endurance and ability to spot weaknesses. After a while or so, with no one really getting anywhere, Alexandra got a sly look in her eye, making him feel uneasy. She lunged forward and he blocked, but she didn't back up and instead continued pressing against him. He didn't understand what she was doing—she was no match for his strength. And then his eyes widened when she smirked and kissed him.

Startled, he froze. She intensified the kiss, nibbling on his bottom lip. He gasped in surprise—they had never shared anything this passionate before. Suddenly, swordplay was forgotten and the blades fell to the ground with a clatter. She grabbed his face and he wrapped his arms around her waist, clutching her tightly to him. Unexpectedly, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He yelped as he was knocked off balance and fall onto his back with her on top, straddling him. Their position and what they were doing was scandalous in so many ways and he tried, but failed, to fight back a maddening blush. But he found he rather enjoyed the sensation of having her pressed against him.

She pulled back and he was so lost in the sensations, he almost failed to notice the blade pressed against his throat. "I win." She said smugly. When he finally pulled out of the haze and realized what she had done, he laughed. They both jumped at the noise and then she smiled gently. "I've never heard you laugh, not like that." He blushed and she reached down and stroked his cheek. "You're so cute when you blush."

The sting he felt to his pride wasn't pleasant. Being called cute was something he had never thought nor wanted anyone to apply to him. She yelped as he hooked a leg with hers and grabbed her wrist, flipping them over easily.

"I am most certainly not cute." He growled.

She laughed. "It's not a bad thing. I rather like it."

She leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose.

He couldn't help but . . . stare at the boy named Morgan. He looked so much like Alexandra it was unnerving. He still was in disbelief that the boy was his and Alexandra's child . . . from the future. He knew about these future children since some had already been found and reunited with parents long thought dead. But to think that he and Alexandra had a child . . . a child! He blushed at the implications of such a thing.

Right now, he kept his distance from the lad, too unnerved about the entire thing to speak to his supposed child yet. He watched as Alexandra immediately took to him, grabbing hold of the boy and embracing him tightly. At the sight, Lon'qu felt that all too familiar feeling of jealousy. Which was ridiculous. Jealous over your own child? How asinine was that? But he couldn't deny what he felt and jealous he was. Already, the boy was monopolizing her time, calling her mother and always with the questions.

Someone patted him heavily on the back—Basilio—and sat down next to him. He gave Lon'qu his teeth baring smile. "So . . . something you want to tell me?" He gestured subtly at Morgan and Alexandra as they sat down and started discussing something.

Lon'qu blushed and stared at the fire before him. Everyone knew now, that they were . . . what were they, anyway? Certainly not lovers, as they had not done anything more intimate than kiss. He didn't know what they were, but they were something, something that didn't have a name.

"We . . . have an understanding between us."

That made Basilio still and stare intently at his heir. "What the hell does that mean?"

Lon'qu looked back at what he said and choked—Basilio had misunderstood. "No! No, nothing like that, my khan. She loves me and I her," His face felt like it was on fire as he confessed, "That is what we have come to understand."

Basilio relaxed and gave a short bark of a laugh. "You had me worried there for a moment, boy." He grabbed the pot from close to the fire, producing a cup, and pouring the contents of the pot into the cup. "So, you are lovers, then?"

"No . . . nothing like that."

"Why ever not?"

"It's . . . a bit complicated."

Basilio snorted, finishing up his drink before standing up. "Nonsense. It's only as complicated as you want it to be. You love her?" Lon'qu nodded, his face red. "She loves you?" Again, a nod. "Then you are lovers. And," Basilio glanced at Alexandra and Morgan as they suddenly laughed, "It would appear your love is fruitful."

Alexandra found him in his tent, meditating. She also noted, with a giggle, that he was shirtless. He did that a lot now, since the summer was approaching. He said it was because he was used to cold and inclement weather, not blistering days of sun. He couldn't stand heat. She felt her face warm as she appreciated the view and entered silently. He was doing breathing exercises and felt no need to interrupt whatever he needed to think upon.

As she unashamedly stared, she couldn't help but see how similar Morgan looked to his father. Much softer and a little more feminine in features, but he looked every bit like his sire. And like every time she compared them, she couldn't help but think about what it all meant. That they were going to be together and stay together—for some time, or so it seemed. They would become husband and wife and . . . her face flamed. They would make love, eventually. A rather tantalizing realization considering she had wanted to be with him in that way for a while now, but he was still slow in recovery, still unsure of touches. She wouldn't push him.

"Alexandra?"

Startled, she slammed back into the present and saw that Lon'qu now stood before her, a worried look on his face. She smiled brightly at him and he relaxed. "I'm fine."

He hummed. Well, not really hummed, but sometimes he made this rumbling noise from his chest that could only be described as such and it always made her feel comfortable and safe. She wondered if he was even aware of it.

She reached forward and surprised him with a hug. His arms, belatedly, wrapped around her and she was enveloped by his strength and scent. It was incredibly reassuring. She pressed her face into his chest, not caring that he had yet to put on a shirt, and breathed him in. "You should talk to Morgan—he said he doesn't remember much of you." He tensed under her hands. Worried, she tilted back her head to look at his face. His mouth was in a straight line and his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking. She gently cupped his face and pulled his eyes to meet hers. "What's wrong?"

She watched as a faint blush touched his cheeks. "It is nothing. A . . . stupid notion."

She gave him a stern look. "Tell me."

He sighed and withdrew from her and she felt entirely too cold and lonely without his warmth. He went and sat down in the bed furs and rubbed his face. "I . . . do not know about this Morgan. I realize he is our son—he looks too much like you to be anything else. I need more time to understand, to . . . accept all that is happening." He glanced at her shyly just then, and said, "And I do not like how he never leaves your side."

Alexandra almost snorted, but checked it. He was new to all this and, to be honest, so was she. She remembered having a crush once, but nothing this intense as she had with Lon'qu. She went and sat down next to him, grabbing his hand and rubbing patterns on the back of it—he seemed to calm down whenever she did this. "You're jealous? Of our son?" She queried.

"I . . . yes. It is ridiculous and I know it is. But I hardly have you to myself anymore between that boy and your duties. I am . . . lonely." Her eyes widened and he looked like he wanted to die for saying the last bit, but at least now she knew how he felt. Which she always had to guess at. Sometimes she would be correct and other times wrong. It was a frustrating guessing game with him, but that was the way he was and she wouldn't change it for the world.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I miss you too, Lon'qu. I will try and make more room for us," She gently gripped his chin and turned him to look at her. "Is that acceptable?"

She leaned up and kissed him on the lips. It was supposed to be just a chaste kiss, but he quickly grabbed hold of her and pressed her into a much more heated kiss. When he drew away, she was left slightly in a daze.

"Do not try, _do_. _That_ I find acceptable."

"Father?"

Lon'qu tensed. He had been avoiding this moment since the boy had arrived, always mysteriously leaving whenever Morgan came around. It looked like his luck had run out. He turned to look at the wisp of a boy behind him. He was so slight, that he almost drowned in the robes he wore—a mage, like his mother. From appearance to aptitude to personality, he was every bit his mother. He saw nothing of himself. And this worried him a little.

Was he really this child's father? Truly? But then he realized what such thoughts meant. That Alexandra and him will never consummate, never stay together. And those mere thoughts made his hear feel like it had been torn from his chest, so he banished such notions. His eyes slid back to the boy's eyes and not knowing what to say, he grunted his acknowledgment.

That small act had the boy beaming an almost blinding smile. "I finally caught you!" He laughed.

Again, not sure what to say to that, Lon'qu stayed silent. Which was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as the boy's smile faded and his eyes began to water. No. No no no no. He couldn't handle crying.

"Do you hate me?" He finally blubbered. "You haven't talked to me since I got here. I've wanted to talk to you so bad!"

He had? All Lon'qu had ever seen was the boy attached to the hip to Alexandra.

The boy started furiously rubbing his eyes to stop the tears from falling out. "I don't remember you." The boy confessed. "I remember bits and pieces, but nothing substantial. And I was so happy to find you and Mom—I thought I finally could spend time with my parents. But you never once said hi to me and you always were gone when I came. I thought I could make new memories because you were gone before I could ever remember you—I wanted to know you so bad!" And then he said, "Mom loved you so much, but you died, Dad, you died!"

The tears were coming full force now, but he was furiously wiping them away, choking back any and all sounds of crying. Lon'qu found himself kneeling. A feeling so soft, so gentle, had gripped him—he couldn't accurately describe the feeling that had enveloped him, but he was having trouble expressing it, he could already tell. He gripped the boy's hands and pulled them away from his face, which was red and smeared in tears and snot.

"I'm here now." He said.

The boy surprised the living Hell out of Lon'qu when he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Lon'qu's neck. "We missed you so much!"

Awkwardly, he folded his arms around the boy—his boy—and hugged back and repeated, "I'm here now."

After a particularly grueling battle that they had been preparing some time for and won relatively unscathed, thanks to Alexandra and her foresight, everyone was taking a moment to celebrate. For a while, Lon'qu watched the festivities as some soldiers built a bonfire in the middle of the castle courtyard they currently occupied. Ale and any other kind of alcohol they could find were being opened and poured into cups. Laughter floated in the air for the first time in a long time.

But it was stifling to the Swordmaster. He was a loner, always had been, and being around so many people at once was almost painful.

He glanced to where the children of the future gathered to animatedly talk. Morgan was among them, smiling and weaving magic here and there to illustrate a scene in a story being told. He couldn't help the small smile that made the corner of his lips pull up—he and his son had gotten closer. The boy brought out a soft side Lon'qu never knew he had, but enjoyed all the same. Morgan would tell him what he remembered of Lon'qu.

Like teaching him that boys didn't cry; a time when he held a dagger and Lon'qu had taught him how to wield it; another time sitting on his mother's lap, watching his father carve wooden toys for him to play with. And then the last time, when the enemy had caught up and there was no place to run to. This memory was much more clear. Morgan had recounted how his mother had grabbed him and fled out the building, which was alight, Lon'qu right behind, sword in hand. There had been too many of them, is what he said, and Lon'qu had forced them to go on while he stayed behind to give them time. After that, Morgan had never seen his father again.

"Mother never was the same." Morgan had finished. "She loved you so much, I think some of her died when you did."

Lon'qu suddenly felt the need to find Alexandra and make sure she was safe. It was an indescribable need to find her, touch her, make sure she had come out of the battle alright. But before he could move, a soft hand touched his forearm. He looked and found Alexandra smiling at him. Without thinking, he grabbed her and kissed her and by the time he pulled back to breathe, they both were panting hard.

"Well, hello to you too." She teased. A blush crept onto his face, but he didn't apologize nor give an excuse. He leaned down and chastely kissed her forehead, before pulling her into a hug. She sighed and relaxed in his embrace, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "Lon'qu? Are you okay?" She asked softly.

He did that humming thing again, telling her without words that he was okay. "I love you." He muttered.

She squeezed him to let him know she felt the same. Lon'qu was a good man, a man of few words, a man of action. She knew this, but she also loved it when he occasionally verbalized his feelings. He drew away and laced his fingers with hers and started walking. Alexandra followed silently behind, wondering what he was up to. They reached the tent quartering area—which was utterly deserted except for the occasional pass by a soldier on duty, checking the perimeter. He took her to his tent and held the flap open for her, never once releasing her hand. He tied the flap shut and led her to his bed furs.

Alexandra thought nothing of what was happening, instead enjoying being in his tent. It was permeated in his smell, in him. Being enveloped by it was incredibly relaxing. She felt a tug and looked down, realizing he was now sitting on the furs and wanted her to sit as well. She sat down in front of him and smiled.

"You're being very mysterious." A blush started creeping up from his neck to quickly cover his face and ears. Now she was curious. "Lon'qu?"

He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_. But a sudden terror had struck him dumb. He bet he looked like a right idiot, mouth open and just staring at her. She reached out with her other hand and started drawing those circles that soothed him—and only she had the power to do it. He had tried doing the exact same pattern on the back of his hand and found he wasn't any less tense than before.

"I'm not . . . not good with words." He stuttered.

She smiled knowingly. "Words aren't your forte—I know." She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. "It's charming."

He almost snorted, but held back. His inability to speak properly, especially around women, wasn't _charming_. "You are the only one." He muttered. And there was more meaning in that one sentence than he thought she would ever understand. A feeling welled up inside him, so strong and warm and powerful, he couldn't contain it. He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his, freeing his hands and wrapping them around her. "I want to show you." He breathed, kissing her mouth, nose, forehead, and down her throat. He was burning up, burning just for her, only for her. His hands trailed up and down her back and sides, sometimes confident, other times unsure. "Let me show you how much I love you."

The smile that she tossed his way was almost blinding. "Show me."


	4. Chapter 4

Alexandra woke with a gasp, sitting up ram-road straight. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying desperately to remember whatever it was she had been dreaming about. She heard movement, and then Lon'qu sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Alexandra?" He eyed her, a hand going to rest on the small of her back, soothing aching muscles.

"Just a bad dream." She tossed him a weak smile, but her watery eyes ruined it.

Worried, Lon'qu raised his hand and used his thumb to wipe away the errant tears. "Tell me." He urged. He'd be damned if he'd let anything put Alexandra in such a state. If he could help, if only by lending an ear, so be it.

"It's . . . I don't know what to say. I don't really remember it. I just woke up in a fit, is all." She ran her hands through his hair, in an almost absentminded, self-soothing gesture. "This is our first night together, so you wouldn't know, but this happens every night."

That made him sit a little straighter and stare intently at her. "Every night? Have you spoken to the healers about this?"

She bit her lip. "No. I feel . . . I feel they have enough on their plate with mortal wounds to be worried about what's going on in here." She tapped her head.

He narrowed his eyes. "What happens in here," He tapped her head just as she had done, "Can affect what happens on the battlefield. I will not lose you to some enemy's sword because you were not allowed enough rest. We will talk to the healer's when next we can."

Alexandra laughed softly, leaning so that she could plant a kiss on his cheek, which turned red. Which Alexandra didn't fail to notice. "So domineering. What happened to my stuttering, cute Lon'qu?"

He huffed and laid back down. "I was and am not cute." He grumbled. She laughed harder and surprised him by moving to straddle him, hands on either side of his head. He groaned as he was already responding to the intimate contact between them. Without even consciously willing them, Lonq'qu's hands reached for Alexandra and pulled her down for a kiss.

Alexandra pulled away just enough to state, "I told you. I like it that you're cute."

He did the rumbling purr in his chest, pulling her back down to continue their kissing. He had rather enjoyed their first time together and was eager and hungry for more. And so was Alexandra, if the way she was acting was any indication.

He had been nervous the first time. Nervous for so many reasons, he wasn't sure if there was one over another that he had been worrying about. He had heard enough talk from men around the fire to know the basics (and then some, but he ignored the more depraved talked) and followed his instincts from there. He knew that making love was pleasurable for both parties, but never had he thought there was another element to it, besides bodies joining. Or at least, he had never thought another element could rival the more carnal ones. But there had been and it had.

He knew right then, that he loved Alexandra with all his being. There would never be another, even if she left him, he would guard her, protect her. If she died, he would follow after, for surely the heartbreak alone would kill him. He was a bit frightened by how strongly he felt about one person, but it wasn't just _any_ person he was so passionate about. It was Alexandra.

"Hey." Coming out of his haze, Lon'qu looked at Alexandra. "Where are you?"

"I love you, Alexandra. There will never be another." He took her hand and placed it on his chest, the skin on skin contact making his skin burn. "You have locked yourself inside here and I will never be able to or want to love another. I will love you until my last breath."

But none of that sounded right. He was yet again frustrated with his inability to control words, to form them in a way that would adequately describe how he felt. But maybe there were no words for what he felt. Maybe it was a feeling passed on or something of a higher plane that you had to attain rather than give away. But he wanted her to know. By the gods, he wanted her to know!

He glanced at her and was nearly struck dumb by the smile she was giving him. "For a man who isn't so good with words, you sure know what to say." She leaned down and kissed him, muttering, "You charmer."

Lon'qu couldn't take his eyes off the adornment now on the Prince—no, the Ylissean King's finger. Chrom had inherited the throne when his sister, a few battle's ago, had taken her life to set Chrom free. But it had only become official when he had married—a political and traditional idea that made no sense to the Swordmaster. If you were good at leading, why delay the inevitable? Why deny the title when the boy had been doing everything a King would do anyway?

Lon'qu scoffed—politics. He was glad such insipid notions were not the Feroxi way. You were either strong or you were weak. If you were strong, you ruled over and protected the weak. No blood lines, no hoops to jump through. Simple. But his eye was once again turned back to the ring now on the King's hand, flashing occasionally as it caught the light. It was a gold band with only a few jewels adorning it. Pretty, if a bit impractical. That shiny object would attract a lot of bandits on the road.

There had been a few weddings now, especially with the future children about. And each time, he and Alexandra would go—mostly because Alexandra insisted. And each time Lon;qu would note the ring passed between the two intended. And each time, Lon'qu couldn't help but notice that Alexandra's finger was barren. In Feroxi, to show that you were married, there was an exchange of furs—a fine white pelt that came from a Tundra Bear. A fierce beast that took down as many hunters as killed it. It was a way of showing your strength, virility and dedication. And sometimes, though the tradition had been fading as of late, the couple would go and ink in a matching symbol of their house. His parents had had tattoos etched into their skin, showing to whom they belonged.

But that was the Feroxi way.

Not Ylissean.

In Ylisse they exchanged rings and vows. Something he considered inferior to how his culture did it, but it wasn't his place to say anything of it. And though he found it all nonsensical, Alexandra was from Ylisse, was raised with such notions. And for a while now, all he wondered about was whether or not Alexandra wanted a ring. If she wanted such a material display of her status, he would have gladly hunted down a Tundra Bear's pelt, the finest, and given it to her. But Ferox was a long way away, and the home of a Tundra Bear, even farther. And he wasn't sure how Alexandra would react to the idea of inking her skin to show who she belonged to—whether or not he would gladly get his skin inked to show who he belonged to, too.

A ring. He needed to get her a ring.

And he had no one to turn to, to ask where he might get or fashion one—he might have asked Basilio except for the fact that the man was being insufferably amused by the whole situation. No one he felt comfortable enough to talk to, besides the newly titled King. Steadying himself and fighting back the blush of humiliation, Lon'qu went up to the Prin—the King. Chrom turned to look at Lon'qu and gave him a small smile.

"What can I do for you, Lon'qu?"

It was . . . almost unnatural how easygoing and forgiving the Prin—King was. He seemed to have forgiven Lon'qu all of his transgressions when it came to his jealousy over the boy and Alexandra and their nonexistent relationship. Lon'qu hadn't even forgiven himself.

"A ring." He muttered. "I want to . . . fashion Alexandra a ring. How do I go about it?"

Chrom seemed a bit surprised. "A ring? A wedding ring?"

With his lips in a tight line, Lon'qu nodded. He waited for the boy to start laughing or giving him that knowing smile. And Chrom did smile, but there was no malice behind it.

"You intend to marry Alexandra?"

Lon'qu held back the retort on the tip of his tongue. In his mind, he and Alexandra had wedded the very night they had first lain together. But he supposed in Ylisse, that wasn't enough. In truth, it wasn't enough in Ferox either. So instead, Lon'qu nodded slowly.

He was startled when the Prin—King suddenly embraced him. The Swordmaster was so baffled by what was happening, he stared dumbly as Chrom pulled back, that smile—so soft, so kind—still on his face. "Let's go find you a blacksmith."

The ring was like a hot coal in his pocket. He constantly had to check to make sure it was still there. It was a simple band, something Chrom wasn't entirely on board with. The King insisted that he should get something flashier, something with more jewels or intricate designs to show how much he loved her.

All of which Lon'qu stringently ignored.

Lon'qu had understood that the concept of the ring was to symbolize commitment and love for eternity, a concept he accepted and wanted to convey completely. How did jewels and etchings or anything else state that any better? But if Alexandra indeed felt she needed jewels or whatever other material thing to signify their love, he would go to the Abyss and back to get them for her.

In his mind, he practiced what Chrom had taught him. He was to kneel before Alexandra and present the ring and then ask her for her hand. Which was ridiculous. Why would he want her hand when he wanted all of her? He shook his head, musing over some of the nonsensical traditions these Ylissean's had. But, he supposed, Ylissean's probably thought the same things about Feroxi traditions.

He was so lost in thought that he wasn't aware nor prepared for Alexandra pouncing onto his back. He lost his footing and fell forward, both of them yelping in surprise.

Alexandra was laughing by the time she rolled off and sat up, and even then, she was still laughing. Lon'qu found nothing funny about what had just happened. He huffed and sat up, flustered he had been caught so unaware.

"I can't believe you let us fall!" She laughed.

"I didn't let us _anything_ ," He grumbled _._

She giggled. "What were you so lost in thought about?"

Suddenly, he remembered what was in his pocket and he got even more flustered. That's right. He had something for her. His hand reached into his clothing to grab that little metal ring, but then his heart stopped. Frantically, his hand started patting his pockets, his eyes scanning the ground. Where was that infernal thing! He imagined he looked a right lunatic, running his hands through the grass.

"Lon'qu? What are you doing?"

He glanced at her, which was a mistake, because as soon as his eyes landed on her face, he became even more frantic. As he frantically searched the surrounding area for his lost item, Alexandra stood and scuffed her foot on the ground, waiting for him to finish whatever it was he was doing. As she did so, something was kicked up by her foot which caught the sun and flashed. Curious, she bent over and picked it up. She blinked in surprise to find it was a ring. And not a cheap trinket, either, but one made of gold. She stared at it, then her gaze slid to Lon'qu.

She wondered . . .

"Lon'qu?" He didn't even pause. "Lon'qu, are you looking for this?"

He froze and turned oh so slowly to face Alexandra. His eyes zeroed in on the ring she held in her hand and she watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. "I-I . . . y-yes." He stuttered out, his blush coloring his ear tips.

She extended her hand for him to take it. "Whatever is this for?"

She felt her heart beating faster in her chest, but she urged it to be calm. Lon'qu's culture was different from Ylissean and though she wasn't sure if she was one, she definitely felt familiarity in their culture—for some things, anyway. Lon'qu may have just been carrying it for someone. Or, who knows? It might be for him, enchanted with some spell or another for battle.

He gingerly took it from her, looking incredibly uncertain and troubled. He rubbed his neck, thinking of what to do now. This . . . wasn't what he had had planned. Of course, nothing really went as planned with her involved. It was a testament to his utter devotion to her, to his inability to really think of much besides her. He pinched the ring between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's for you." He finally said. She watched, dumbstruck, as he stiffly kneeled and held the ring up to her. "I know I am not . . . doing this quite right. The prin—King Chrom told me of your traditions and what I must do . . . but I messed up." He shook his head. "What I mean to say is, I am aware of the traditions of your people and how, in order for us to be considered married, I must present you a ring. And ask you a question."

She was still speechless, but smiling like a fool as he took her hand, as he had been told to do, and nervously licked his lips. This was ridiculous. Why was this ordeal making him so nervous? "Alexandra, will you marry me?"

She dropped to her own knees and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. She was shaking. Had he upset her? That wasn't his intentions at all! He went to draw back, but she started laughing and he stilled, now uncertain of what was happening.

"Did I do it wrong?"

Alexandra withdrew, still smiling and fighting back her mirth. "Not at all." She leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss. "I just find it all rather amusing. I know you. You didn't have to do this just for me." His face colored at her sharp observation. "But thank you, anyway. I love it. And yes, Swordmaster, I will marry you. Might as well make it all official." If possible, her smile got even bigger and her eyes started watering.

He gently wiped the tears away and the gesture made her cry more. "Please don't cry." He whispered. "Are you so happy that it's escaping in tears again?" He teased.

She choked on a giggle. "Yes." She breathed. "And it just hit me. I won't be lonely anymore. Lon'qu, you're the only one that chased away the loneliness." She leaned forward and placed her forehead on his. "I will be your wife, Lon'qu. And even in death, I will love you."

He smiled and he couldn't help but think that this was the start of a new life for him. And this one . . . this one would be happy. No sadness would enter their lives. He'd make sure of it.


End file.
